


a million stars; a million adventures not yet begun

by whataboutateakettle



Category: Scorpion (TV 2014)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-20
Updated: 2015-05-20
Packaged: 2018-03-31 11:13:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3975943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whataboutateakettle/pseuds/whataboutateakettle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"They <i>had</i> dinner plans, but being part of a team of geniuses that save the world isn’t really conducive to any sort of plans."</p>
            </blockquote>





	a million stars; a million adventures not yet begun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [somethingleftunderwater](https://archiveofourown.org/users/somethingleftunderwater/gifts).



> Based off of Dannii's imagine, to which I was like omg cuuute and then Dannii was like omg write a fic and my brain was like _SURE_.

They had dinner plans, real actual dinner plans. Nothing fancy; there’s a small Japanese restaurant near her place that’s always full, so he’d made reservations, brought a spare shirt to work so he could get changed.

They _had_ dinner plans, but being part of a team of geniuses that save the world isn’t really conducive to any sort of plans; so now it’s past ten and they’re celebrating six months together on the roof of the garage with a bottle of red wine and pizza delivered from down the road.

 _Six months isn’t a real anniversary_ , she’s already reminded him a handful of times, _monthiversary isn’t a real word, either_. But she didn’t complain when he pressed his lips to neck this morning, breathed the words to her skin.

They’re not doing presents, and really, he doesn’t care. She’s hard to buy for anyway, not that he wouldn’t have tried. He’d drop his entire pay check on her at the drop of a hat, _his hat_ , if he thought he it would be important to her.

So, his plans of a nice, simple dinner had turned into eating with their fingers, leaning against the brick wall and staring out into the night sky. He managed to find a candle though, among the mess downstairs. She’d rolled her eyes when he made a big point of lighting it, placing it between them, but smiled with him anyway.

She sips her wine quietly, leans her shoulder against his, jacket to jacket. This has been a newly discovered pleasure; he’s always felt an urge to fill silence with words, the sound of his own voice became a comfort early on. But now he’s realised he likes the sound of her breathing, steady, calm, present, more than anything he could ever say. Still, he'll do his best to make her laugh; he’s all to willing to put his dignity on the line for a crack at that smile.

He feels her head tilt and he looks down, sees her eyes follow something in the sky.

He follows her gaze, looks up, “Hey, would you look at _that_ , a shooting star. You should make a wish.” He throws her a glance, smirk and all. He knows how she feels about wishes, but tonight is special, so he’ll give it a shot.

“Not a star,” she replies, shaking her head, hands playing with her glass, “It’s a meteoroid that’s burns up due to friction when it enters the atmosphere.” She pauses, looks up at him from the corner of her eye, “You knew that.”

He shrugs, pretends to look innocent, before bumping his shoulder with hers gently, “You know, some of those meteoroids are thousands of years old, they can come from comets, the Moon, even Mars, and they break through the Earth’s atmosphere _tonight_ , on the very night we’re standing here celebrating something special. Call that coincidence, sure, but I think it’s still worth a wish, don’t you?”

She exhales slowly, before acquiescing and closing her eyes. He watches, wonders what she’s wishing for, how he can make it happen. Her lips quirk up at the corners, the way they do when she quietly pleased, when she makes a breakthrough on a machine, when she’s teaching Ralph something new, when they’d cuddled on a couch together, limbs tangled, and she thinks he’s not looking.

 She opens her eyes suddenly, catches him staring at her. “Aren’t you going to make one?”

“Oh, I don’t have to,” he grins, waits as she raises an eyebrow at him, as he takes another sip of his wine and turns her body a little more towards her. “Mine’s already come true.”

The quirk returns as she figures out what he means, she shakes her head gently, turns to rest her forehead against his shoulder. It takes him a moment to realise she’s laughing.

“What?” he asks, eyes narrowed. He was pretty pleased with that one, but it’s almost suspicious that she’s equally amused.

She looks up at him, eyes suddenly warm and sincere. She looks over his face before she says anything, and that’s another thing he’s learnt to enjoy: a slower pace. He used to be all urgency, frantic kisses and tight grips; scared to miss out on a single moment, scared he’d lose her if he wasn’t constantly rushing _towards_ something. But now he knows he couldn’t possibly give her more of him than he already has, and she knows too. And it doesn’t matter if they spend all day working on different ends of the same case, or if they miss their dinner reservations, or that he’s already asked her to move in with him and she’s said no, _not yet_ , kissed him firmly to prove she wasn’t going anywhere.

But she just shrugs her shoulders, a pleased smirk on her lips as she brings her wine glass up to them. He watches her closely, tries to pick up the clues of what she’s not telling him.

“ _What_?” he asks again.

She stares out across the skyline for a moment, before reaching past him, grabbing the wine bottle from the wall, still half full.

“Come on, I have something to show you.” She nods her head towards the door.

He frowns, pushes himself up from the wall, “Huh?”

“It’s at home,” she says, as if that’s supposed to clarify anything, looks up at him, runs her tongue over her lower lip before biting it. “ _You’ll like it_.”

 _Oh_ , he’s knows that look, he _loves_ that look. But as much as he’s really looking forward to what she’s implying, he can’t help but narrow his eyes at her.  “I thought you said no presents”

 “Didn’t say I bought it for _you_ ,” she replies, smirk playing on her lips as she’s already turning towards the door.  He watches her from behind for a moment, let’s his gaze wonder down; he knows she knows he’s watching.

He grabs the empty pizza box from the table and rushes after her. “Is it black?” he asks, catching up to her. She shrugs her shoulders, doesn’t even look at him as she opens the door, continues down the stairs.

“Is it lacy?!” He asks. She pauses for split second, hand catching the rail. He grins wide, knows he's right. 

“ _Be patient_ ,” she mutters, glancing up at him over her shoulder with a stern look. And he knows, _he knows_. Slow and steady wins the race, but really, the ride looks pretty swell too.


End file.
